Remorseless
by Steely Charm
Summary: Dominique Weasley will now only be Dom, until the day she can become Mrs Lysander Scamander.


**Written for the 'Opposite Day' Challenge, this is my first next-gen story. **

**A real challenge to write, and I am not sure if it is any good, but I hope someone out there enjoys it!**

Dear Mother and Father.

Have you noticed yet? Yes, I suppose you have if you have found this, and if you, Mother, are reading it out. Are Victoire and Louis in the room? I doubt it, but if they are, send them out.

_SEND THEM OUT, NOW!_

Louis _cannot_ hear this! He _cannot_, do you understand?! And no one is to let him read it, or put it in a place that he can find it. If you do, I will know, and I swear to God, I will find out and I will _NOT BE HAPPY_.

Take a seat, Mother and Father.

This is all very pompous, is it not? _Mother and Father._ I don't think I have ever, except for when I was too young to know better, called you anything but Fleur and Bill.

That's not the point. In fact, I don't really think there is much point to this letter at all, but I am writing it anyway, because Louis told me ages ago that I should, to get all of my pent up anger out. Express myself better, more coherently. This is my first attempt. My writing, as you, surely, Mother, have noticed, is all over the shop, but I feel lighter as I scrawl, and that is something.

Thank Louis for me, would you, Vic?

(Yes, I know she is still in the room At least you heeded my warning about Louis.)

Just to make it perfectly clear; I am writing this for me, not you. I need to put some sort of structure to my thoughts. I need some closure. I don't want you to find this and read it, but I know that somehow you would, Father, hence the gazillion charms and invisible ink and all of that.

Bravo to you, Father, by the way, for bypassing most of my spell work. Did it take you long? I hope so. Are you proud now?

(I am not sorry about your burnt fingers. They are your own fault.)

Okay. Let me begin by telling you that I am not sorry.

I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry for not being sorry.

How many times have I said that in the seventeen years I have lived?

_Sorry. _

Once, twice, a thousand times, more?

I wouldn't be surprised if you told me I had been born apologising.

(Come to think of it, what was my first word?)

(Actually, never mind, I don't want to know. I couldn't physically bear it if the first thing I had come out with _was_ actually an expression of remorse.)

For once I am not repentant or full or regret. I am not thinking over my behaviour and wishing I could go back a minute, an hour, a day, a year and do things _differently_. Do things the way everybody expects me to. Wants me to.

It is quite refreshing. A nice change, a change for the better.

I have vowed that after I sign this letter, I will never again be penitent. Why should I be?

Why should I be sorry for the things that I do? Why should I be sorry that I do not fit in? If anything, it is the world that should be apologising to me for the Hell it makes me live through! It should be everyone else who apologises to _ME _for creating standards and then being disappointed when I don't live up to them!

Everyone should be apologising _to __me_.

You, Father, need to apologise to me.

You need to apologise for comparing me, again and again, with Victoire and Mother. I am never going to be as beautiful or, as you say, kind and generous and lovely and all-around good as them, so just _STOP IT_, okay? Stop it. Why can't I be different? What is so bad about being unique? I don't understand, Father. I want to be you, and yet whenever I try to be, you look at me in dissatisfaction. Why am I not as good as them?

Mother, you too owe me an apology.

You need to apologise for trying to make me follow in your footsteps. I am not you, and I, quite frankly, do not _want_ to be you. I want to be _ME_, Dom; fun and happy and a little bit naughty and feisty! I want to stand out, Mother, so stop trying to make me blend in._ It's not working_ and it never will. You may have turned Father boring, but I would_ die_ before I changed.

Victoire, you know why you need to apologise.

No? You don't?

I'll clarify; you need to apologise for all of the times you didn't laugh, even though you wanted to. You need to apologise for not letting loose every once in a while. You need to apologise for making me think that I was wrong to _want_ to be happy and myself. You need to apologise for making me think that I had to be like you and Mother if I was ever going to be loved. You need to apologise, not just to me, but to yourself.

Dear, kind, sweet Louis will _NEVER, __EVER_have to apologise because _he is himself._

_HE IS THE BEST OF US. Don't you go about changing him like you failed to change me. _

I have being, all of this time, wasting my life. I can't imagine why I ever strived to live up to expectations.

I am so tired of not being myself. The only way I could escape this was to run away.

I am not alone, Mother, Father, so fear not.

I have my darling Lysander with me.

Lysander is amazing. I didn't introduce you, because I knew you would look at him harshly.

He is teaching me exactly how to not care about what everybody else thinks. He makes me want to show myself off to the world. He is not embarrassed about me, he thinks I am incredible the way I am!

Lysander. Sander. Dominique. Dom. Lysander and Dominique. Sander and Dom.

Lysander's family has never judged me, Mother, Father.

Not once.

They are quirky and original themselves, and are not afraid about it.

I love Lysander.

My last sorry will be spent telling you how sorry I am that I haven't said that before.

I am not a Weasley. I am not a red-headed, freckled Gryffindor.

I am not a Delacour, either. I am not a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Veela.

From here on I am just Dominique. Black and purple haired, green-eyed Dom, who one day, maybe someday soon, will be a Scamander.

I feel… exhausted, now. I have no emotions left. There is so much more I want to say, but in the end, it doesn't matter anymore.

What's done is done.

Maybe we will see each other again.

Maybe not.

Please don't come after us.

Dom.

**Drop a review!**


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